Page 78 of Riding the Storm
Bryce gives him a polite nod. “Good ride out there.”
“Thanks,” Porter says, flashing that too-white smile. “Maybe next time, you’ll be on a bull, and we can go toe-to-toe for this buckle.”
“Maybe,” Bryce answers, unbothered.
The tension hangs a second too long before Royce breaks it. “We’re all heading to Okie’s Saddle and Saloon to celebrate. You two should come.”
Bryce looks at me.
I shrug. “Why not? Be good to spend some time with family.” And if I’m honest, it’d be good not to be alone with him. I seem to lose all my wits when I am.
“We have that thing in the morning,” he says. Reminding me that we’re supposed to meet with his friend Judd Alder, the saddle bronc rider he introduced me to earlier. “And then I have a commercial to shoot before we head to Tulsa.”
“Ah, old man, you can handle it,” Axle says. “Just for a little while.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking toward the exit, like he’s weighing the options.
“C’mon, cowboy,” I tease. “Let’s go have some fun.”
He finally nods. “Fine. For a little while.”
They follow us to the Bull Rope trailer so Bryce can change back into his clothes, and I decide to slip into the denim skirt I shoved into my bagthis morning. Then we all head for the parking lot and get into trucks and head straight for the bar.
The place is loud, smoky, and alive. Neon lights buzz above the bar, and the jukebox is stuck on a rotation of George Strait and Brooks & Dunn. The floorboards creak under the boots of half the rodeo circuit.
Bryce sticks close to my side when we first walk in, his hand brushing my lower back to guide me through the crowd to where Axle, Royce, Chase, and Porter stand near the pool tables. It’s such a simple touch, but it sends a shiver through me anyway. Like he’s claiming me.
A couple of locals challenge the boys to a game, and soon, the sounds of cracking balls and laughter fill the corner.
Rounds appear faster than anyone can track—beer, whiskey, and shots—one after another.
I start with a whiskey, then a shot because, well, tequila.
Bryce plays a game or two, every move calculated. He might not have ridden today, but the competitor in him is alive and well. He’s relaxed but watchful, his eyes taking in the growing crowd and staying aware of the exits, like he’s ready for anything that might go down.
I excuse myself after a while, heading to the ladies’ room.
When I step back out, I head toward the bar for another drink.
A woman appears beside me. Tall, gorgeous, and dressed like a poster girl for every cowboy fantasy ever. Tight jeans, turquoise jewelry, hair the perfect shade of honey blonde.
She leans against the counter beside me. “You here with Bryce Raintree?”
I blink. “Depends on who’s asking.”
She smiles without humor. “Let’s just say, someone who’s been there, done that.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Okay …”
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she says as she raises her fingers to get the bartender’s attention. Ordering a shot.
“Wouldn’t what?”
She tilts her head toward where Bryce’s laugh carries over the noise. “Wouldn’t get too close. He looks like a good idea, but trust me, he’s nothing but a broken heart, wrapped in pretty packaging.”
Her words hang there, sharp and sweet at once.
I shrug. “Maybe I just wanna open up the package, play with it for a bit, and put it back on the shelf.”
